Sleep
by generalsleepy
Summary: Raoul struggles to survive under Erik's captivity. (Warning for graphic torture).


Raoul wanted to stay asleep. Sleep had been quiet and dark. He couldn't quite remember where he had been before he slipped into unconsciousness, but he knew that the peace of sleep was far preferable.

He kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore the hints of pain permeating the body he was coming back into awareness of.

He couldn't ignore, though, the persistent tapping on his cheek. He slowly recognized the sounds filtering through the cotton in his ears as words.

" …dear Vicomte. Please don't deprive me of the pleasure of your company."

Raoul parted his chapped lips. and a groan spilled out. He recognized that voice. He remembered where he was and why he had passed out. He wished that he could forget and go back to sleep.

The tapping turned into a slap that forced Raoul's head to the side. His eyes snapped open.

"Ah! Back with us, I see."

Raoul blinked rapidly, staring at the cracked stone wall.

Erik didn't afford him the luxury of looking away, though. He grabbed Raoul's chin and yanked his head straight, forcing him to stare up at the masked face, sadistic grin visible just in the exposed yellow eyes.

"I'll admit," (Raoul loathed that suave, smug voice), "I expected more of you. A hale young man, a world-traveling sailor. I had thought you would be able to take a little more of our play."

He placed a hand on Raoul's chest, palm pressing into the mess of intersecting cuts, then dragged in his nails. Raoul tensed and barely controlled a scream. "You should have some experience in this area. Or is it only the English Navy which specializes in rum, sodomy, and the lash?" He cackled to himself, then pulled his hand back and slapped the sliced-up flesh. Raoul couldn't control a yelp as his body jerked.

Everything hurt. It felt like there wasn't an inch of his body that Erik hadn't subjected to some abuse. He'd started whipping Raoul's back with a cat o'nine tails. Then he'd flipped him over to continue beating his chest and stomach until blood was pooling beneath him.

He'd used a hot iron on his feet and his armpits. He'd pulled off fingernails and toenails. He'd broken several fingers on each hand. He'd choked him to the very edge of consciousness over and over again. He'd… He'd…

Raoul wished that he could have lost track of the individual tortures in a haze of pain. Instead, he remembered each one clearly.

Erik grabbed him by the hair, yanked, and roughly shook his head. "You little fool. You brought this on yourself, you understand. I might have let you go, or at least simply broken your scrawny neck. Then you decided you would try to shoot at me."

Try. Right. Raoul couldn't see the wound, but judging by the way Erik was moving his left shoulder, Raoul was certain he had at least grazed the man. Good.

"I should have killed you," Raoul hissed with all the strength he had left.

Erik slammed his head into the table so hard he saw stars. A second later, his hand was around Raoul's throat, cutting off his breathing completely.

"You stupid, ignorant, little brat! I'll bleed every drop of that blue blood out of you! You have not even begun to suffer!"

Raoul's vision was starting to blur, but he could just make out Erik reaching for something below the table. Erik loosened his grip slightly as he held a knife in front of Raoul's face.

"You are very pretty, aren't you? I'm sure you're used to getting whatever you want from everyone just by batting your eyelashes. You've been handed everything, and you don't even realize it. Dear God, I hate you."

He slashed the knife down Raoul's cheek. Raoul tried to scream, but all that could escape past Erik's iron grip was a squeak. He could hear Erik's heavy, frantic breathing.

Raoul knew that he was going to die. Erik was going to murder him with the knife in his hand. And, first he was going to cut him to ribbons.

He was frightened. Dear God in Heaven, he was frightened. He wanted to slip into unconsciousness just to get away from the pain.

He wanted Christine. He wanted his brother. He wanted to beg and cry and have someone come and rescue him.

He wouldn't let Erik see that though. He would face his death, horrible as it might be, resolute, with eyes open. He would prove he wasn't the sniveling, spoiled child Erik thought him.

Erik squeezed hard, then let go to shove Raoul's head to the side.

"Now where shall we begin? Ah." He pressed the blade to the back of Raoul's ear. Raoul's heart leapt into his throat. "Let's begin here. Next, I think we'll take some fingers. Then, those pretty lips. I'll see if I can make you even more hideous than me. When we're finished no one will be able to even recognize you. Do you think that Christine would still love if you weren't beautiful anymore? Do you think anyone would care for you if you were a monster?"

Raoul swallowed hard, and when he spoke his voice was stronger than he thought it would be. "Go to hell."

Erik cut his other cheek. Raoul grunted, but was almost too far gone to scream. The knife returned to his ear. Erik was hissing insults and invective, but Raoul didn't bother paying attention. He concentrated on steeling himself for whatever was going to come.

"Erik!"

The man above him froze. Raoul couldn't place the voice that came muffled through the door.

Erik straightened up. Raoul couldn't help but let out a relieved breath as the knife was pulled away. Erik stared at the door, muttering something Raoul couldn't make out. Knife still in hand, he left the small chamber and closed the door behind him.

Raoul was left alone in the near dark. He listened to his own ragged breathing and felt the blood from the fresh cuts trickling down his face. He couldn't let himself believe that the voice meant rescue. He couldn't let himself hope, now that he'd come to terms with his inevitable death.

But. What if…?

After he wasn't sure how long, he heard a muffled clang and then a thud. His first thought was that he'd had just heard Erik kill whoever had shouted. He squeezed his eyes shut and readied himself for what was coming as he listened to footsteps approaching.

The door opened. The last thing that he had been expecting was a shocked gasp. "Oh God, Raoul!"

Raoul's eyes flew open to see the figure rushing to his side. He opened his mouth, but couldn't produce a sound.

Philippe.

Philippe bent over him. "Raoul! Oh, thank God, thank God!"

Raoul had never heard his brother's voice so thick with emotion. He tried again to speak, but could only whimper, "Philippe."

"It's alright, Raoul, I'm here." He smoothed Raoul's hair and peppered his face with kisses. "I'm here. You're safe now. I've got you."

A man stood silently behind Philippe. Vaguely, Raoul recognized him as the man who had warned him and Christine earlier–the Persian. He knew that the man's presence had to mean something, but at that moment he couldn't figure out exactly what or why.

There were so many things that he wanted to say, if he could make his mouth work. How did you find me? Where is he? Is Christine alright? Oh, God, thank you. Thank you. Please get me out of here. I want to go home. Please, take me home.

"Philippe…"

"Hush, it's alright. You're safe. I love you. I love you so much, Raoul."

He felt himself slipping away again into soft, comfortable unconsciousness and didn't feel any need to fight it. He was safe with his big brother beside him, and everything was going to be alright.

He thought that he heard the Persian saying something insistently, but before he could try to understand, he slumped into the gentle, steady hand on his forehead.


End file.
